


Just This Once

by alpacasandravens



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexual Content, enemies who are also lovers, hate sex (?), why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacasandravens/pseuds/alpacasandravens
Summary: Bruce attempts to eliminate Jeremiah's threat to the GCPD's recovery effort in No Man's Land!Gotham, but even after all the things he's done, Bruce can't truly move on.





	Just This Once

**Author's Note:**

> @theevilcactus please don't read this you'll never forgive me. tbh i'll never forgive myself for writing this.

Bruce perched on a rafter in the warehouse. Before the city had fallen, this had been just another abandoned building near the docks where gangs would sometimes hide their smuggled drug shipments. Now, it was Jeremiah Valeska’s chosen spot for torture and planned murders. 

In the middle of the floor, Jeremiah stood in front of a man tied to a chair. Bruce couldn’t remember exactly who the man was, but he knew it was a higher-up in the Penguin’s organization. He’d thought that, as the two most powerful factions in the warring city, Jeremiah and Penguin would have banded together to take out the lesser competition, but clearly he had been wrong.

Bruce tried to steer clear of Jeremiah’s crime scenes. There was so much wrong in Gotham, so many things for him and the GCPD to fix, that he could usually get away with it. If the total amount of crimes Bruce stopped was high enough, he knew Gordon wouldn’t look too deeply at his strange avoidance of this particular gang. He didn’t avoid them as a sort of protection, he told himself. He had no problem stopping Jeremiah’s plans, just so long as Jeremiah himself wasn’t there.

Silently, Bruce dropped from his rafter to a catwalk closer to the ground. He wasn’t even sure why he was here tonight. Usually, seeing Jeremiah as this … thing, whatever it was he had become, was too much. Under the impossibly pale mask that Bruce suspected might be makeup and gaudy suits, he could see the Jeremiah of before. The man he’d loved.

“Enjoying the show?” Jeremiah called, not looking away from the bound man before him. In a quick movement, he put a bullet through the man’s head before Bruce reached the floor. 

“Why are you doing this?” Bruce wasn’t sure why he kept asking, but he had to understand. 

“You should know.” Jeremiah turned around with a smile. “I’m doing this all for you, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head sadly. “How is killing this man helping me? I’m trying to save this city.”

“So am I. He worked for Cobblepot, keeping food from the people. Would you rather I had let him go?”

“I would rather you didn’t murder people in my name.”

Jeremiah dropped his gun on the floor and stepped closer to Bruce. “We want the same thing, Bruce. This city is rotting from the inside. The only way to save it is to clean out the rot. I only want you to see that.”

Bruce fought the urge to step away from him. He hated watching this stranger murder and lie while wearing his Jeremiah’s body. Hated that Jeremiah wouldn’t admit he needed help, or even that he had changed. 

Jeremiah stepped toward him again. “We can rebuild Gotham together. Help me, Bruce. There’s still so much more work to be done.”

Bruce punched him.

“You’ll come around eventually,” Jeremiah said, still smiling.

Bruce punched him again, connecting with his face hard enough to knock him down.

Jeremiah laughed, high and manic. “I think you already have. You know your refusal to kill is more of a weakness than a strength, but you refuse to admit it. Ultimately, you know I’m right.”

“You’re sick, Jeremiah. Murder isn’t the answer.”

“Then why do you let me do it? I know you drop in on Cobblepot’s business dealings, and Barbara’s, and every other faction in this rancid city. But you never stop in to see me.”

“Why do you want me to stop you?”

Jeremiah stood before Bruce, shorter by several inches, black eye already starting to blossom, and making no effort to be intimidating. “It does get awfully lonely sometimes,” he said, stepping closer still. Bruce made no effort to step away. “We can do this together, just like I always wanted.”

“This isn’t what I want. I didn’t want to tear the city down to save it, and I don’t want to help you kill your way to the top.”

Jeremiah stood close enough to Bruce now that he had to look up to meet Bruce’s eyes. “I don’t care about being the king of Gotham, or whatever Cobblepot is calling himself now. All I want is to help you.” He ran his fingers over the scars on Bruce’s hands. “Being a vigilante is difficult. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it for you.”

Bruce was tempted. For a split second, he considered using Jeremiah’s considerable forces and influence to help the GCPD. He would never do it, but it would make his life easier. As good as the GCPD were (those who hadn’t defected to the Penguin’s sector when the city fell), there were only so many of them. Having an army would be effective.

“If you really want to help me, stop this. The killing, the wars, all of it. Leave Gotham.”

Jeremiah’s fingers moved to his face, dancing over his cheek. “I won’t leave you, Bruce. You need me.” 

“ _You_ need _me_. Who would you be without this fixation?” _Normal_ , Bruce thought for a moment. Jeremiah had never been normal, and that had been exactly what drew Bruce to him originally. He was brilliant, he was entertaining, and that had been more than enough. 

“Visit me more often,” Jeremiah practically whispered. He and Bruce were so close they were almost touching. They were both magnets, irresistibly drawn to each other. “I never see you anymore.”

Bruce touched Jeremiah’s quickly purpling eye. “You always end up worse for wear when I do.”

A dangerous, desperate smile played on Jeremiah’s lips. “Maybe I like that.”

Bruce knew what was about to happen, and he hated himself for it. The person in front of him was not the man he’d loved. That man had been quieter, gentler. Saner. In the end, it didn’t matter. Jeremiah pulled him down into a searing kiss, and Bruce gave in.

This was nothing like before. In the bunker, Bruce had kissed Jeremiah softly, afraid he would scare him or break him. Jeremiah had worn his clothes as armor, unwilling to remove them and let Bruce see the marks from his childhood no matter how much both of them had wanted more. Here, Bruce clutched Jeremiah to him. Without his armor, Bruce knew Jeremiah’s grip would have hurt him, and he knew he held him just as tightly. Jeremiah bit his lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood, and Bruce moaned involuntarily.

Bruce ran a hand through Jeremiah’s hair, twisting it between his fingers and using it to pull their already connected mouths closer. He grabbed Jeremiah’s ass with his other hand and sighed into his mouth.

He forgot his mission (arrest and retrieve). He forgot how much he despised what Jeremiah had become. All he knew was that there would always be a part of him that loved Jeremiah, and that he might die if both of them stayed fully clothed.

He broke away from Jeremiah to look around. They still stood in the middle of the warehouse, empty except for the dead body behind them. Jeremiah’s lipstick was smeared, and Bruce knew his own lips were now that same shade of deep red. The chalk-white remained on his face, which meant it was probably natural. His eyes, always dark, had gone completely black with desire.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah breathed. Bruce dragged Jeremiah towards the nearest wall, silently cursing the amount of complicated connectors on his armor as he did so. He didn’t have enough presence of mind to begin undoing them, because as soon as they got to the edge of the warehouse Jeremiah pulled him back down by the shoulders. 

Bruce didn’t know how he would explain the violent bruises Jeremiah was leaving with his mouth. He didn’t care. The feeling of his mouth on him, his tongue playing over the purple spots just under his jaw and down his neck, only made him want more. His hands fumbled at the hem of Jeremiah’s shirt, untucking it from his pants and sliding his hand up his chest in a desperate need to feel more skin. When he brushed Jeremiah’s nipple, Jeremiah involuntarily bit down where he had been working on his neck. Bruce couldn’t wait any longer, and they both began the maddeningly long process of removing Bruce’s armor.

Tomorrow, Bruce would deal with the consequences of failing his mission, of returning to Haven unmistakably marked and disheveled. But tonight, all that mattered was feeling Jeremiah’s hands on every part of him, the twisted adoration in Jeremiah’s eyes, and hearing the broken cries of _“Bruce”_ echoing off the stark metal walls.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh i hope you enjoyed the story? it's 2am i haven't even proofread this i'm sorry. this is by far the most explicit thing i've ever written oops.  
> if you liked it leave kudos or a comment!


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